The Doctor and Martha materialise in a white void, but stepping from the TARDIS find themselves in the English countryside. Where are they really? Who are those precocious children? What are the strange lights in the trees? And what are the smugglers up to in the caves under the woods? More importantly, is anything what it seems to be?
Landy makes a fine fist of writing the Tenth Doctor at his best; slightly lost, racing through the landscape with a machine gun stutter of words and theories instead of striding like a lonely god, and captures both the spark and the tragedy of the relationship with Martha (which, it occurs to me, has some rather striking parallels with the relationship between the Joker and Harley Quinn; there's a sobering thought). The weird fictional world is incomplete, but fantastically realised in its incompleteness.
So, yeah; I like this one.
Sometime at the start of next week, I shall finish this series of reviews with relative veteran Neil Gaiman's Nothing O'Clock.
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